Our limerick lady’s gone mute
With nary a rhyme from her snoot
So absent’s her muse
That she ought to recuse
And give this lame poem the boot!
Category Archives: Journeys by Water
(#31)
Our next overnight destination
Was the subject of much rumination
When we asked where to go
Folks said, “Gee, we don’t know”
We don’t cruise here when we’re on vacation!
(#27-30)
Inspiration is striking me fast and furious…SIX new limericks in two days!
To pull out the wires from the main
We hired “Mr. Stiffy,” the crane
But the wires all went SNAP!
And the crew all went, “CRAP!”
These unsteppable masts are a pain
When it was time to bring Barry back down
Margaret tried, then announced with a frown
“This thing’s gone amuck!
The halyard is stuck!”
Now we know why the wires are bound!
So we hauled down with all of our might
To bring Barry down from that height
Brian grunted and groaned
Margaret worried and moaned
Barry wondered if he’d be there all night!
There’s a reason we call him, “The Man”
If anyone can do it, Brian can
So now Barry’s on deck
Though Margaret’s a nervous wreck
And all three have a brew in their hands
(#25 and #26) (can you believe we’ve published that many?)
I am keeping an eye on this guy
Who is perched about 60 feet high
It’s my job to make sure
He is safe and secure
And he doesn’t fall out of the sky
But you’d think he would show some more tact
In appreciation of my kind, selfless act
With a Newtonian splat
Detritus falls on my hat
With a resounding “OOPSIE!” on impact
(#24)
The Tchefuncte river is pretty and fair
Its worth many a risk to sail over there
But the clams are morose
‘Cause our keel was so close
We sailed over the bar with inches to spare
(#23)
On a beautiful day, not a hint of rain
We raised the mizzen and then the main
Sailed out on the lake
In order to take
Our maiden voyage on Pontchartrain
#22
Santa Claus came yesterday
And made Brian happy and gay
For the best of all gifts
Is a transmission that shifts
And will send Cayenne sailing away!
(#21)
Led by Neil and his partying friends
The Christmas parade boats do wend
With our genset to light the way
(And our dink as a sleigh)
At the fabulous N.O. West End*
* Author’s note: New Orleanean cardinal designations make little sense to us out-of-towners. The West Bank seems to be south of town, and the West End is miles away from it, on either the south side of the lake or the north side of town. Given how confused they are about “west,” I wonder where they think Seattle is???
(#20)
Late at night when airtime is free
we download all our email, you see
but the second time we tried,
the battery almost died
getting the three meg picture of your Christmas tree.
(Names removed to protect both the innocent and the guilty)
#19 (From Margaret’s Uncle and secret poet, Roy Branson)
Quoth the Raven, “enough already”
We had hoped to be, upon the sea,
Not on the rocks but not on blocks.
But there we are and much too far,
From a flush toilet, with our eyes set
on a shower, our eyes red, our bodies sour
In and out, up and down, the further we must go,
The boat won’t sink and we won’t drown, we’re still on blocks, although
We be at sea (or up the creek). Avast, thar she blows, no pirates, no leak,
No transmission, no go, we’re up on blocks, you know.
We’ll sail round the world, but it will take longer.
While we’re on the blocks, and the odor stronger.
But at least, I think, though we may stink, we won’t sink
We’er still on blocks, with rocks in our head, and we’re fed
Up with the sailing, and failing to go but not on rocks still on blocks
And quoth the rabbit, “cut the crap!”